


Point Of View

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-21
Updated: 2008-01-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 08:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Sometimes, the way you see another can change in the blink of an eye.  Harry and Hermione learn that lesson themselves.  With, you know, sex.





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

(originally posted August 7, 2006) 

 

 

**Harry…**  
  
Harry rearranged himself in the stiff chair, trying to stifle a sigh, and was only half successful. He normally enjoyed these “meet and greet” assignments; they were one of the features that made his job such a good fit for him. Since the war, he had joined the Auror Office—as everyone had seemed to expect him to—and he generally enjoyed his work. But he had also been roped into a special diplomatic liaison group as well. Since Voldemort’s defeat, the various Magical nations around the world had begun to make greater efforts at cooperation, realizing a bit too late how close they had all come to disaster.   
  
So, while diplomacy was never Harry’s strong suit, he had still been made part of the Initial Contact Council within the Department of International Magical Cooperation, a smallish group of witches and wizards who represented various parts of the Ministry and the British magical community. Of course, the fact that Arthur Weasley was the head of this new endeavor may have had some small part to play, as Harry doubted that he could have said no to the man that was in many ways a father to him.   
  
Surprisingly, he found that he actually enjoyed the responsibilities. His particular council was sent to meet with various magical groups that did not have formal relations with the British Ministry (and to set the groundwork for future diplomatic measures), and he discovered that he loved the excitement of traveling around the world and meeting new magical races. In many ways, it reminded him of when he was that eleven year old boy who was being shown a whole new world. So yes, he normally enjoyed the assignments. But this assignment? This assignment was beginning to wear on him.  
  
The J’ari. The best way Harry could describe them was as a sort of East-Asian version of Veela. They were unnaturally good-looking, with slightly metallic skin tones and thick, ebony hair that they all wore long. It wasn’t that the J’ari weren’t a friendly people, they most definitely were. And quite willing to exchange magical information. It was just that their love of custom and ceremony was beginning to wear thin on him. Harry knew what his strengths were, and the overtly formal tone of this particular diplomatic mission wasn’t really one that tapped into them.   
  
And so he rearranged himself in the chair once again and this time _did_ let out a _slight_ sigh. Causing Hermione to nudge him in the ribs with her surprisingly sharp elbow. “Stop fidgeting,” she whispered to him, her lips barely even moving as she kept her eyes on Arthur and the head of the J’ari delegation as they concluded yet another ceremony on the raised dais at the end of the large hall.  
  
“Ouch!” he whispered back at her, as he rubbed his ribs. “You didn’t have to dig in so hard, Hermione.”  
  
She just raised an eyebrow at him, then turned her attention back to the reason they were there. He gave a quick grin before forcing himself to endure the conclusion of the Pledging Ceremony. She always managed to put him in his place quicker than anyone else, ever since they were eleven, and even managed to actually make him enjoy it when she did it. She definitely filled that sisterly role for him, he thought with a grin.  
  
As if sensing him looking at her, she turned to him and shook her head slightly before focusing her attention back to the proceedings. He may have thought of her as a little sister (regardless of the age differences between them), what with all the frightening of potential boyfriends and the regular teasing, but at times she looked at him as if he was barely out of nappies.  
  
Finally, people started to move out of the chairs, and Harry realized that the ceremony was over. The members of the Ministry team in their dress robes mingled with the J’ari. They were a tall, extremely graceful race, with long limbs and musical voices, and they seemed to enjoy speaking with the Ministry team. “Thank god!” he whispered to Hermione as they stood up. “I don’t think I can make it through another one of these boring ceremonies!” He hadn’t really been able to see any real difference between all of them: the Pledging Ceremony seemed a whole lot like the Friendship Ritual from the day before, which had seemed a copy of the Rite of Welcome from their first day. As he saw it, it was all just a bunch of bowing and burning of incense and chanting.  
  
“Well, brace yourself, Potter, because you still have one more to go,” she replied, barely hiding the laughter in her voice. “But if you snore through that one, you’ll have to answer to me!” At his puzzled look she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I’ve only been practicing for it for hours everyday this past week!” she snorted, her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
“Ooooh, that dance thing, right?” he asked, finally remembering. A female member of their group had to participate in a special dance as part of the J’ari’s Farewell Ceremony to be performed the following night, and Hermione had been chosen more for the fact that she was the only young woman on the council than anything else (though Harry would have paid good Galleons to see stately old Miranda Goshawk shaking a leg onstage). Harry wasn’t really sure that Hermione could even dance, other than the formal sorts of Yule Ball waltzing about. “Since it will be the very last diplomatic ceremony we’ll have to endure, I’ll be happy to see it no matter how god-awful it is.”  
  
At Hermione’s increasingly reproachful glare, Harry looked at her in confusion. When she didn’t say anything but continued to stare at him, he replayed what he had just said in his mind and winced. “Not that you won’t do great, Hermione,” he hastened to add. “I’m sure all those lessons have to help at least a _little_.”  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him and just gave him one last glare before she stalked off, settling in with Arthur’s group, chatting with a charming ease that belied her seconds-earlier irritation.   
  
“Now _that_ was bloody painful to watch.”  
  
Harry turned to see Blaise Zabini smirking at him. “It’s true, Potter,” Blaise continued with an elegant lifting of his bow. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a woman so completely insulted in such a short amount of time.”  
  
“Ha-ha, very funny,” Harry answered sourly as he grabbed a drink from an attendant. “Hermione knows I didn’t mean anything by it.”  
  
“Really?” Blaise asked, his disbelief obvious. “Because in my experience, women don’t take kindly to being insulted by the men in their lives.”  
  
“Man in her life?” Harry sputtered, practically dropping his drink. “Zabini, what have you been drinking? Everyone knows that Hermione’s like a sister to me.”  
  
Harry tried to ignore the way Zabini was looking at him. It seemed too much like a mixture of amusement and pity. “Of course, Potter,” Blaise responded, his voice just a little too smooth. “That’s exactly what I meant.”  
  
Harry just gave him a glare and stomped off to talk to an attractive J’ari woman sitting at the opposite side of the large hall. A particularly friendly woman who acted _nothing_ like a sister, he noted with a smile.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
For the last time, Harry rearranged himself in the stiff chair, trying once again to stifle a sigh as he prepared to suffer through this final ceremony. This time, of course, there would be no Hermione at his side to force him to stay focused, since she would actually be participating. As bad a dancer as she might turn out to be, she couldn’t be worse than watching Arthur and the head J’ari diplomat bow to each other even one more time or wave their hands at each other while lighting another candle.  
  
With all the solemnity that he had come to expect with these ceremonies, the group of dancers walked onto the dais, barefoot, covered in long, dark silken robes. Harry noticed that except for Hermione, all the dancers were J’ari men. There were eleven of them altogether, the men grouped rigidly around her.   
  
Harry tried to catch her eye and smiled at her, thinking how pretty she looked with her hair down, the wild chestnut waves flowing down her back. He finally caught her attention and gave her a wink, but only the very slightest of smiles showed that she had seen him. He was glad she had not been truly angry with him as Blaise had implied–she was too good a friend to be mad at him simply for being an idiot.   
  
The music then began, a deep, formal beat of various percussion instruments setting a counterpoint to the higher tones of the stringed instruments and an eerie type of horn. Hermione and the dancers moved with a deliberate slowness about the stage, the robes covering their bodies so completely, that you had to focus on the intricate patterns they drew in the air with their hands and arms, as well as an occasional swirl of the full robes.  
  
Harry was surprised that he actually found the dance to be quite beautiful in its formal simplicity. But not more surprised than to see how poised and elegant Hermione appeared as she performed the dance. Why he was surprised, he wasn’t quite sure, for he was always aware on some level of how attractive she was and of her quiet grace. But still, it was different to see it displayed on the stage before him.   
  
Suddenly, the music began to change, the percussion beating faster, and the other instruments picking up on the more urgent tempo. The dancers responded as well, their movements becoming less and less rigid, though the dance still retained some of the formality it had started with, as if this relaxation of the body and music was just as necessary as the earlier stage had been.  
  
Harry was engrossed as Hermione came to the forefront of the group and all the dancers began to swirl their robes around themselves. As they turned, they removed their robes, letting them fall to the ground.  
  
Harry couldn’t help but suck in his breath when he saw what Hermione had been wearing under that billowing robe. It wasn’t in any way indecent, but it was at the same time perhaps the most provocative dress he had ever seen a woman wear. The sleeveless bodice, while it had a high neckline in front, looked as if it were scraps of silk woven together, and it plunged in the back to below her waist. The material was a deep wine color that was just barely opaque. And the skirt? Harry almost choked as he got a more careful look at it. It was made up of what looked to be gauzy layers of the practically transparent silk in deep jewel tones with a slightly metallic sheen–designed originally, no doubt, to set off the J’ari skin tones. True, it was ankle-length, but he could see that there were countless slits in the various layers, many as high as her upper thigh. All in all, while it left her covered, it hinted at the possibility of falling apart at any moment.  
  
Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of her. As she moved to the increasingly wilder tempo of the music, her thick hair moved about her, mirroring the way her skirt swirled, showing glimpses of her legs.  
  
Just then, Harry finally noticed how the male dancers were dressed: in wide, flowing pants and no shirts at all. One by one, each of the male dancers approached Hermione, and the dance became increasingly sensual, as she circled about each of the dancers in turn, her hand traveling across their chests and backs. Harry’s breath quickened as each of the men lifted her above them, causing her to slide her body over theirs  
  
It was hard to believe that this dance could continue, that it could be any more erotically charged, but the music became faster, with the beats coming harder as the dancers lost any semblance of their earlier formality. The men pulled at Hermione, as their feet stamped at the floor in a rhythm that was a strange counterpoint to the music. But his attention was completely on Hermione as she moved her hips in a way that made him suddenly uncomfortable. She was so completely abandoned to her dance, and Harry was mesmerized by how flushed her face was and how dark her eyes became. When the men surrounded her closely, pulling at her outstretched arms, she closed her eyes as she threw her head back, and he had to lick his lips to wet his suddenly dry mouth.  
  
When the dance finally ended, Harry felt almost as out of breath as the dancers were. He finally remembered himself enough to applaud politely, and he cautiously looked around him to see the others’ faces. He was more than a little shocked to see how calm all the others from the Ministry looked. Arthur was beaming with pride as he clapped, Madam Goshawk seemed almost serene in her appreciation of the dancers, while the other members of the council wore large smiles and simply applauded. Hermione herself seemed pleased with the dance as she stepped down from the dais and mixed with the J’ari delegates, graciously accepting their approval of her participation.  
  
Harry was stunned. How could everyone act like what they had just seen was a normal, everyday occurrence? How could he have been the only one to have reacted so strongly to her intensity?  
  
At that moment, Hermione looked over at him, and caught his eye. She stared intently at him, reading what, he could not say. Whatever she saw must have amused her, for her brows lifted ever so slightly, and her lips quirked into a tiny, arch smile.   
  
Harry suddenly became aware of someone next to him. He turned to see Blaise watching him with a suspiciously, utterly blank expression on his face. “Like a sister, eh?” he asked, with only a touch of dryness.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _She was there, on the stage dancing for him, silk swirling about her as she raised her arms above her head, her neck exposed to him as she threw her head back. She was spinning around and around, her face wearing an expression of pure pleasure.  
  
He knew that he would have to take her before any other men saw her like this—he had to make her his, for he knew the hungry lust that shined in his eyes would be mirrored in others. He was like a madman, grabbing her to him as he ripped the scraps of silk off of her, delighting as each inch of her soft pale flesh was exposed, running his mouth over her beautiful body.  
  
She laughed, a carnal, throaty laugh, and his passion for her rose to the point that he thought his body might explode from wanting her so badly. He threw her down onto the floor and quickly removed his own clothes as she stared at him with hot eyes, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, her hands running over her own body in anticipation. He fell against her as he pulled her to him, kissing her fiercely, his tongue plunging into her mouth as she opened herself up to him, pressing her firm breasts against his chest. When she began to rub her hot wetness against him, he almost came right then.   
  
He pushed her down, holding both of her hands with one of his own and she eagerly wrapped her legs around him when he entered her with desperate force. She was so slick and tight, he thought he might die from feeling himself inside he . “Yes, oh Harry, oh god, yes!” she moaned, as she pushed her hips against his, trying to get even more of his cock inside her.   
  
Just hearing his name come out of her mouth pushed him even farther into his desire-laden madness and he grasped her thighs and spread her knees apart and began to push even more deeply inside her, her cunt tightening around him in a feverish counterpoint to his thrusts. Never in his life had he felt such pleasure.   
  
“Oh god, Harry! I’ve been waiting so long!” she moaned in ecstasy. “No one has ever been in me like this.”  
  
“Say it again!” he ordered. “Tell me how much you want it!” he demanded, crazed, needing to know that she wanted him as much as he did her.   
  
“Please!” she screamed. “I want you, I want you in me, I want all of you!” Each time she repeated it, he thrust deep and hard into her. “Fuck me, Harry! Fuck me and never stop!”   
  
She convulsed around him just before he came, shouting her name over and over. “Hermione…”_  
  
  
Harry woke with a start from the altogether too-vivid dream. As he looked down at his boxers, wet with stickiness, he groaned and lay back on his bed, throwing one arm over his eyes. It was the third such dream in as many nights since Hermione had performed that horrible dance.  
  
No, the dance was not horrible, that he knew. What was horrible was his reaction to it–or more specifically, to her–since it had happened. She still thought of him as a brother, so what would she think if she knew that he was lusting after her in his dreams? He sighed. She would never know, for he could at least still control himself around her. The thought of the disgust she would have for him was motivation enough. He looked at the time. It was a few hours earlier than he had planned on waking, but with a long shower, he’d be ready to start the day. Fresh.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Harry stifled a groan as he forced himself to increase the speed of the treadmill. He tried averting his eyes, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He had come to the gym as an escape from her, to sweat out some of the tension that seemed to fill his body non-stop for the past week, but fate was definitely working against him.  
  
Since his vow to act normally around Hermione, she seemed to be purposely thwarting his goal. When they had their regular, post-assignment council meeting, he watched her as she would take out her hair clip, shake out her hair and run her fingers through it, humming contentedly, before putting it back up. It was like clockwork. She did it once almost every half-hour. And every time she did it, his palms would slightly itch.  
  
Worse than that was when she would become deeply engrossed on an assignment. With her position with the Wizengamot, they often worked together on cases. He had thought that her only little idiosyncrasy was how she would draw her brows together—he had known that for years. But somehow he had never before noticed that she would lick her lips every once in a while. Or noticed how pink her tongue was. Or how plump her lips were.  
  
Yes, she definitely seemed to be haunting him, in ways so subtle, it was a wonder to him that he even picked up on them. Even the way she would run her hands over her hips, just smoothing her robes, could cause him to stammer nervously.   
  
And she was definitely beginning to notice. The previous day, the two of them had been in a conference room, going over a particularly dense case, when he had practically disgraced himself. She had complained of an ache after sitting for so long when she stood up, pulled her hair out of its ponytail, and let her head fall forward, her hair spilling down and exposing the back of her neck as she massaged her scalp. Then she flipped her head back, her hair streaming back behind her. And, not seeming to even notice him, she opened her blouse slightly, and reached one hand under it to delicately adjust a bra strap before putting her hair back up and sitting down. Harry’s face had turned red and he had to excuse himself for over ten minutes as Hermione had looked at him with puzzled concern.  
  
And now, in the gym, he had hoped for some peace of mind. Why he thought she wouldn’t be there was beyond him. Good lord, they had gotten their memberships _together_ , since it was so close to both of their flats. Clearly, the lust had made him stupid, and he had hoped to test the old axiom of “out of sight, out of mind.” But there she was, in her workout clothes that showed every curve of her slender body. She was doing her regular yoga exercises, stretching and tensing her muscles, and he wondered how he could have ever seen her do them before without wanting to fuck her on the spot.  
  
As she went through the different positions, he became uncomfortably aware of how toned and flexible her body really was, and he could not help but picture the various positions he would be able to place her in as he shoved his cock into her.  
  
As if she sensed his thoughts, she suddenly looked at him, and gave him a half-smile, which caused him to very nearly fall off the treadmill. He knew he couldn’t stay there even another minute, so he practically ran out of the gym, knowing how strange he must have looked to her, until he found a quiet spot to Apparate from.  
  
He popped into his flat and quickly stripped off his sweaty clothes and stepped into the shower, closing his eyes as he thought back to Hermione’s body, and how it would feel to wrap her limber frame around him. Of course, after working out, she would join him in the shower. She would lather him up and allow him to do the same with her, their hands slippery with soap as they explored each other’s bodies. He could picture her small hand surrounding his erect cock, even as he began to stroke himself. She would pump him with one hand as she played with his balls with the other.  
  
And as he began to stroke harder, he could see her bracing her hands against the shower wall, wordlessly inviting him to enter her from behind. _He slaps her ass lightly before he obliges her, one hand bracing himself against the wall, the other reaching around her to rub her clit.  
  
She moans as he begins to pump harder into her. “Yessss!” she hisses, her head tossing under the spray of the shower, as she shoves back into his thrusts. She speaks in moans and sighs, unintelligible except for the heat and lust that pours out of her mouth. “God yes, Harry. The way you fuck me… it’s so good and hard… yes!”  
  
Her voice causes him to thrust harder against her, until she is practically smashed against the shower wall. “That’s it!” she shouts, her tone deep and almost torn out of her throat. “Oh, god, Harry. Don’t stop until you pour every last drop into me!”_ As he neared his climax, he could only imagine the feel of her around him, her hot convulsions milking his cock dry. As he pictured the final, deep thrusts into her, he easily imagined her screams of ecstasy as his orgasm finally erupted.  
  
He closed his eyes and sighed as the shower washed away the evidence of his fantasy. _What are you going to do now?_ He asked himself as he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. He had to come up with some kind of solution; Hermione had never given any sign that she wanted their relationship to change, and with the way things were going, if he didn’t do something soon, he might end up disgracing himself and embarrassing her. And the thought of losing her friendship? That was just too horrible to contemplate.  
  
Clearly, she was turning into some kind of addiction for him, and the best way to end an addiction was to quit, cold turkey. That’s what he would have to do: just cease having as much contact with her as possible. Throw himself into his work. He loved his job, right? As he crawled into bed, he gave a fervent, silent prayer that this would work.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Slamming stacks of files around, Harry let out a low, steady stream of curses. What had made him ever think that this stupid plan of his would ever work? Sure, he was avoiding Hermione, but in that week all he had accomplished was hurting her feelings, and masturbating with an intensity and frequency that he had not experienced since he first hit puberty. All it would take was one glimpse of her at a meeting or in the hallways and he would become obscenely aroused.  
  
Added on top of that, he had to admit that he had become the crankiest member of the entire Auror Office. He snapped at people for the slightest of reasons. People had taken to avoiding him, and the junior Aurors had been walking on eggshells for days. Even Shaklebolt was giving him funny looks. Harry knew that if he didn’t get back to normal soon, he would be having an extremely uncomfortable talk with the head of the office.  
  
And so he had isolated himself in the records room, working on some old paperwork, trying to regain some sense of balance, when the last voice he had wanted to hear interrupted him. “Harry, can I talk to you?” Hermione’s voice called from behind him.   
  
He closed his eyes for a moment before turning away from the filing cabinet he had been verbally abusing and schooled his face into calmness before facing her. “Sure, Hermione,” he answered in an even voice. “Do you need something?”  
  
She was so beautiful to him, that at first he didn’t see the worried expression on her face. He just wanted to drink in every detail about her. She frowned at his question and stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his arm. He wasn’t sure if she noticed how he stiffened at her touch and his quick intake of breath.  
  
“I’m worried about you, Harry,” she replied, her unease clear in her brown eyes. “I feel like you’ve been avoiding me, and everyone says that you’ve been acting, well, differently. Is there something wrong? You know you can tell me anything,” she urged in a concerned tone. She gave him a little smile, and reached with her other hand to brush back some of his hair.   
  
He stood frozen in place as he felt her small, soft hand against his face. He closed his eyes for a split second, and during that moment imagined taking her right then and there. The two of them tearing each others’ robes off. Her, pushing him against the wall as she kissed him with a fierce passion, her tongue soft and hot in his mouth. Him, leaning her against a table, pumping into her, hard, over and over until she screamed his name. And after, as they were sated and flushed from their lovemaking, him, holding her nude body close to him, never letting her go.  
  
He opened his eyes and quickly grabbed her wrist, and slowly lowered it from his face. He couldn’t help but stare at her, even though he knew he was the cause for the hurt and confusion that was written all over her expression. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he replied, his voice strained, as he reluctantly let go of her wrist. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You know how much I care about you. I’m having a problem, and I’m not sure how to fix it. And, for once, you can’t help me. It would probably be best for me to be alone for a little while.”  
  
She just stared at him, too shocked and confused and hurt to respond as he collected his files and left her there, alone.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Harry sat in his darkened den, polishing off another drink. He hated himself. Because he didn’t know how to control himself, he had hurt the person who mattered most to him, his best friend for over a decade. How had he not realized sooner what his feelings were? At first he had thought they were strictly fraternal. Then he was confused by the overwhelmingly sexual urges he had been awakened to. But now, in the calmness of the darkness and Firewhisky, he finally knew what his feelings truly were.  
  
He was in love with Hermione Granger. A desperate love, to be sure, but it was love nonetheless. He realized that he loved everything about her: her sweetness and her arch wit. Her kindness and her moods. And her passions. Passion for her work, for her friends, for her causes. As well as that smoldering passion that he had seen during the dance that had started him on this path.  
  
He finished off his drink, but before he could pour another, his Apparition wards chimed. Not wanting company, he ignored it, but it kept repeating. It had to be her. She had always been remarkably persistent. He finally unlocked the wards, and with a crack she stood before him. She watched him with a serenity that he wished he could emulate.   
  
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she spoke. “We need to talk.”  
  
  
(TBC)


	2. Hermione

**Hermione…**  
  
  
In the preparation room off of the main hall, Hermione took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. She checked her costume one last time, making sure that it was securely on her slight frame. The dress wasn’t indecent, she supposed, since it covered quite a bit of her. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a little scandalous in it. After all, it looked like it might fall apart at any moment, like something a Jezebel might have worn in a well-planned seduction of a king.  
  
One of the male J’ari dancers gave her a reassuring smile. “You will perform the dance with great grace and it honors me to be a part of it, with you,” he assured her in friendly, yet formal tones.  
  
Friendly and formal, that was the perfect combination of adjectives to describe these people. Their love of formality had made their entire culture a pleasure for Hermione to study, for their gestures, ceremonies and rituals were as rich a source of knowledge as their magic itself. Of course, her sentiments weren’t widely shared by the rest of the council; more than a few had the same mindset as Harry, who had audibly mumbled about the J’ari and the “stick up their metallic arses.”  
  
At the thought of Harry, Hermione frowned slightly. He might treat her like a little sister, but to her it often felt like he was the infant that needed looking after. Could he have put his foot any deeper into his mouth when talking about this very dance that she was about to perform? Treating her like a sister was one thing, treating her like she had no feelings was quite another.  
  
“Did I say anything to offend you?” the J’ari dancer asked, his concern obvious as he observed her frown.  
  
Hermione shook off her annoyance at Harry and focused on her surroundings. “No, of course not,” she replied with a warm smile. “I was thinking of something entirely unrelated to this. And thank you for your kind words, I will try to be worthy of the honor.”  
  
He smiled. “I have no concerns on that point. You are one of the best participants we have had perform the dance in some time. You appear to truly understand the meaning of every movement on a level few outsiders seem capable of.”  
  
“Thank you,” she replied simply, a slight blush tinting her cheeks. His words flattered her more than he knew, for Hermione was well aware that she was not a natural by any means when it came to such dancing. However, she felt she had a duty to perform it well, and she certainly had no desire to completely embarrass herself. So, just as she had met every other challenge in her life, she threw herself into learning this dance. And the more she learned, the more interested she had become, for the dance was rich in symbolism expressed through its intricate movements. As the male J’ari explained to her numerous questions, each gesture was important and necessary for the ritual to take place properly. The connection between movement and intention was at the cornerstone of J’ari magic—much more so than the magic she had been taught—and she found the dance to be utterly fascinating, and therefore had turned herself into a willing and successful student.  
  
Realizing that they were about to begin, she placed the long outer robe on top of her dress, and walked out onto the dais with the men grouped around her. She tried to remain calm, and she saw Harry’s head bobbling around as he tried to catch her eye. When he gave her a wink, she couldn’t help but give a small smile to him. ‘Hopefully, he’ll stay awake for this one,’ she thought to herself.  
  
Then, the music began, and Hermione and the men began to move slowly to the deep percussion beats. It had been difficult to learn to move in the long robes, but she was pleased to see that she was now able to swirl them with something approaching ease. She was every once in a while able to catch a glimpse of her friends’ faces, and was happy to see admiration in their expressions. Even Harry seemed to enjoy the dance.   
  
Then, as the music began to change, and the steps became more intricate, Hermione and the men began to discard their robes. As worried as Hermione had been before the performance, she now didn’t even think twice about her costume, as she became more engrossed with performing the dance. As she twisted and twirled to the music, she felt her skirt swirl about her legs and her hair swing around her face and shoulders.   
  
At that moment, she caught a glimpse of Harry in the audience, staring at her. She had never seen that expression on his face before, and it caught her off guard. Luckily, she was at that point pulled by one of the male dancers, and the shock brought her back into the dance. As the memory of Harry’s expression lingered in her mind’s eye, she allowed her body to relax as she circled around each of the male dancers, letting her hands skim across their chests and backs. She once again caught a glimpse of Harry’s face as she was lifted by each of the men in turn, and the dark expression in his normally mischievous green eyes seemed to hit her in the pit of her stomach.  
  
 _He desired her_. She knew it, and it did not make her feel uncomfortable as she thought she would have felt. In fact, the knowledge made her feel strangely powerful, and she lost herself more to the dance, her bare feet stamping against the floor as she swayed her hips. When the male dancers surrounded her and began pulling at her outstretched arms, she closed her eyes and let herself imagine different hands on her. As the dance ended, she threw her head back, flushed and exhausted.  
  
When she heard applause, she finally opened her eyes, scanning the room. Arthur and some of the others in the council were clapping loudly for her, and she could see the pride on their faces. Even Blaise Zabini clapped politely, and Hermione saw that Madam Goshawk smiled and nodded her head to a comment that a J’ari delegate was making to her.  
  
As Hermione made her way down from the stage to mix with the other guests, she caught sight of Harry. His face was flushed and he seemed nervous. She couldn’t help but feel amused at his reaction. And again she felt that strange surge of power, power that she had affected him to such a degree. It felt more than a bit like vindication. Tossing a slight smile to her confused best friend, she turned to one of the male dancers who helped her into her robe, and she began to circulate among the guests.  
  
But her mind was only half on the proceedings. The other half was wholly occupied with this strange new development that had presented itself.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
 _Even though the crowd milled about them, Hermione was conscious of only one other person in the room. Harry stood in the center of the large hall, his eyes wide as he stared at her, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed nervously.  
  
She stalked him the way Crookshanks stalked his prey: never losing eye contact until she was right in front of him, her body just inches away from his. She smiled when she saw the flush rise on his cheeks. “What are you afraid of, Harry?” she asked in a voice so sultry, she hardly recognized it, a voice that came from the deepest part of her body. She tilted her head to the side as she smiled again, and this time let her hands lightly dance across his shoulders and chest. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” she teased with her voice, even as her fingers teased his muscles, stroking the planes of his body.  
  
She saw his jaw clench as his eyes darkened. She smirked as his body tensed under her hands. “I’m not afraid,” he growled at her, but carefully holding his body still.  
  
“Hm?” she replied and then, ignoring the crowd around them, pressed herself against him, and whispered into his ear. “Prove it.”  
  
At that his resolve snapped, and he grabbed her to him, kissing her with a fierceness that took her breath away. Mindless of the others still in the room, Hermione threw her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers as she slid her tongue against his, groaning at the heat of his mouth as they dissolved into lips and tongues and heated breaths, licking and tasting each other.  
  
The crowd faded away when she quickly pushed him to the ground and their clothes disappeared. Hands and mouths were all that mattered as she gloried in every moan, groan and hissing gasp that she ripped from Harry’s throat. She climbed on top of him, and gave a throaty laugh when his hips bucked, his desperation to be inside her making her hot beyond belief. “Eager, aren’t you?” she taunted him, as she leaned down and licked his lower lip only to quickly pull her face away when he tried to capture her mouth in a kiss.  
  
“Please, Hermione,” he choked out, the frustration evident in his voice as he grasped her hips.  
  
“Please?” she asked, staring at him through lowered lids. She moved to kneel above his hips, and positioned his hard cock at the entrance of her wet pussy, “Is this what you want?” she asked as she barely slid onto him.  
  
“Oh, god, Hermione!” Harry grunted. “Please!” he gasped again, filling the word with even more urgency.  
  
“Please?” she repeated his words as she allowed a tiny bit more of him entrance into her cunt. “Is that the best you can do?”  
  
“What do you want from me?” he asked, his eyes shut tight and his body tense.   
  
“Just tell me how much you want it,” she answered, letting another inch of him inside of her. “And open your eyes. I want you to watch as I take you inside me, inch by inch.”  
  
His eyes snapped open and stared as he saw himself entering her, his hands tightening on her hips. “Oh god...” he groaned. She laughed again and quickly sheathed the rest of his cock only to quickly rise up so that once again only the tip of him was inside her. “God Hermione! Just fucking do it!” he shouted out, his need for her evident in the hoarseness of his voice.   
  
But Hermione was merciless. “Tell me, Harry,” she continued to taunt him with her words and her body, going so far as to stroke her own breasts and rub her own nipples, pulling another groan from Harry’s throat. “Tell me what you want.”  
  
“YOU,” he rasped, his eyes almost black with lust. “I want you. Fuck, Hermione, I want to be inside you, I want you to ride me, I want to feel your cunt around me! Please, I’m going to explode. Please, God! Hermione, just let me fuck you!”  
  
At that, Hermione let herself take him inside of her and squeezed herself around him. She could barely hear his own shout of ecstasy, her own was so loud. And then she began to ride him in earnest, her hips moving up and down, back and forth, over and over, her head thrown back as she felt her pussy swell further with lust. Her blood was throbbing and she was moaning as she let her hands roam her body. And through it all she could hear Harry groaning and repeating her name over and over. Her cunt felt heavy and full and then she felt his fingers rubbing at her clit and she screamed as she came, spasming around him, her climax so intense that she barely noticed that Harry was also screaming his own release, his hands pulling her against him as he arched into her, shouting her name over and over._  
  
Hermione awoke with a gasp, her bed linens twisted around her legs, her body still shaking from the strength of her orgasm. Even as she lay there, a moan of frustration filling the darkness of her bedroom, she still felt small tremors washing through her.   
  
Could a person be tortured by her dreams? She was sure that these dreams that had been a constant presence in the week or so since the night of her dance were some sort of karmic punishment. She had been _too_ delighted by Harry’s obvious discomfort, and now this was some sort of cosmic payback for her display of sexual hubris.   
  
The first time it happened, she had been shocked, true. But at the same time had found more than a bit of naughty delight in the dream. The memory of Harry’s expression after her seductive J’ari dance had been fresh in her mind, as well as her slightly wicked pleasure in having elicited such a reaction. She brushed that first dream off rather quickly. After all, such things were bound to happen when a man and a woman were such close friends. And, as much as she would never admit it out loud, her feminine vanity had certainly been appeased after his inadvertent earlier insult of her abilities. Could she really be blamed for enjoying the fact that a handsome man found her attractive?  
  
She sighed as she rubbed her eyes in frustration. If only she had left things off after that first dream. But once she saw him again after the assignment had been completed, it was as if she had been bitten by some evil impulse. For she could see that Harry was still slightly dazed, and rather than be a good _friend_ , and help smooth things over, she decided to tease him. Just a little, nothing too obvious, but it was teasing nonetheless.   
  
Why had she done it, she asked herself in frustration. She had never known herself to be so manipulative before, but it was as if something had triggered inside of her. Knowing that he was watching her, and not as a friend, had released an inner seductress that she hadn’t ever known was within her. She had lost count of how many times she had run her hands through her hair, and when she thought back to when she had deliberately played with her bra in front of him she couldn’t help but blush a bit.  
  
And the dreams had continued. Each night growing more and more intense until she was almost wary of sleep itself.  
  
‘Ugh, what were you thinking? How did you expect this to end?’ she asked herself for not the first time. _You hadn’t been thinking. You let yourself get caught up in a ridiculous fantasy and you’re only going to end up hurting yourself and your best friend._ The realization was a sobering one. And she couldn’t understand what had come over her. She _always_ thought things through. She never let herself get caught up in romantic flights of fancy. And certainly never regarding Harry Potter.   
  
‘I must have been temporarily insane,’ she thought to herself. Yes, that was what happened. She had obviously been under too much stress and been frustrated and had reacted in a way that was completely out of character. After all, what else could possibly be the reason that she was suddenly so physically aware of Harry, of all people?  
  
She exhaled and closed her eyes. Clearly, it was all settled. She now recognized how disastrous her behavior had been and she would simply stop. No more hair flipping, lingerie adjusting and robe smoothing for her. Everything would return to normal.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
“Bloody fucking hell!” Hermione snarled as she slammed her work bag on top of the coffee table as she entered her flat. Normal? Everything was so fucking far from normal Hermione almost wondered if she was in some way cursed.   
  
Since her decision to stop tormenting Harry, everything had somehow gotten worse. She had been glad to see him at the gym soon after making her decision. She had thought that the two of them doing something so routine as working out could put them back on track to normality. She had smiled reassuringly at him, only to have him bolt out of the building. And since that night, he had all but ignored her. No, he wasn’t just ignoring her, he was actively avoiding her.  
  
She felt tears well in her eyes as she threw herself onto the sofa. How could she have possibly bollixed everything up as badly as she had? And how could she possibly fix this? Because she was pretty sure that just walking up to him and announcing _“Hey, Harry? I was trying to drive you insane with lust. Sorry about that. Friends?”_ wasn’t really going to do the trick.  
  
And the worst part was that the fantasies hadn’t stopped invading her brain. The dreams came with just as much force at night. And to make matters worse, she found herself zoning out at all times of the day, as the dreams turned into daydreams and the daydreams turned into fantastic visions of smut invading her mind’s eye at all waking hours.  
  
At first, the fantasies had been much like her earlier dreams: her taunting him until he submitted to her. But the roles had since changed, and she soon found herself whimpering in her sleep as she dreamed about Harry dominating her, commanding her, completely possessing her. And as much as she hated to admit it, the visions had supplied her with the strongest orgasms she had ever had, whether they were the result of dream Harry’s ministrations or her own hands and fingers as she closed her eyes and let the waking fantasies fill her mind.  
  
Even as she thought about it, she could feel that now all-too-familiar gnawing in her belly. That flood of molten heat that quickly spread through her womb, causing the slick warmth to pool in her pussy. Slightly ashamed of herself, she positioned herself to lie on the sofa, one leg wantonly thrown over the back as she lifted her skirt and let her fingers explore the wet readiness she found between her thighs.   
  
She closed her eyes, and the fantasy projected itself in the privacy of her mind. She stroked her inner lips, a quiet moan escaping her. _She’s standing in her bedroom, and somehow he’s there as well. He approaches her, his green eyes darkened with lust. Without a word, her pushes her back against the wall and grabs her hands and pulls them above her head. She becomes uncomfortably aware of how much larger than her he is, he practically looms over her. Keeping both her wrists trapped by one of his hands, he uses the other one to touch her face, her brow, her cheeks and her lips. She moans as he lowers his hand and begins to trace light patterns around her breast. He then leans in to kiss her, hard. He releases her wrists so that he can reach around her to cup her ass as the other hand reaches under her top to knead her breast.  
  
She groans into his mouth as he rubs his thumb over her nipple, and she grinds her hips against his groin. He makes quick work of her clothes and soon she’s naked, pressed against the wall with one of his thighs between her legs. She rubs herself against him, desperate to feel him. Her hands roam across his now naked back and she can’t stop herself from running her fingers over his ass, kneading the hard muscle she finds there.  
  
His mouth leaves hers and she groans as he kisses her throat, her shoulders, her breasts. “Please,” she begs, feeling herself get more wet with every touch.  
  
“What do you want?” he asks, as he suckles one of her breasts, reaching down to stroke her wet clit. “Tell me what you want,” he commands as he begins to stroke her.  
  
She howls in frustration, and tries to desperately climb onto him. “You know what I want!”  
  
“Say it,” he orders as he begins to slide two fingers in and out of her wetness.  
  
She moans incoherently as the sensation builds within her. She grabs his head and pulls him to her for a deep kiss, her tongue driving into his mouth, just as his fingers were driving into her pussy.  
  
This time, she has the satisfaction of hearing him moan, just before he throws her onto the edge of the bed while he remains standing. Now completely naked, he pushes her thighs apart, and positions himself between her legs, his cock at her hot wetness. “Tell me what you want,” he repeats, and she moans as she tries to push her hips down to feel him, but he holds her hips in place with his other hand. “Is it this?” he asks, as he teases her opening with his erection.  
  
“Yes!” she howls at him, “Please, Harry! I want you in me, don’t make me wait any longer!”  
  
But he continues to tease her, just giving her a little of his length then withdrawing it, over and over until she’s screaming at him to fuck her, and she wants to cry in frustration. Finally, he drags her ass to the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, and while standing, he plunges his entire length into her.  
  
The feeling of him inside her is enough to make her writhe, but he’s not through with her yet. He grabs her by the hips and begins to thrust, slow and steady into her. She moans and begins to run her hands over her breasts even as she spreads her thighs farther apart to allow him to go even deeper into her. “Oh god, oh god,” she begins to moan incoherently as each stroke brings her close to release. Just when she thought that he could do nothing else to make the pleasure greater, he begins to rub her clit, causing her to scream out in pleasure. “Please Harry! I can’t take anymore, just fuck me! Hard! Please Harry, you feel so good, do it now, Oh God!”  
  
And he pounds into her, harder and harder, and he grasps her thighs as he leans into his thrusts until she knows no man has ever been in her so deep, and he thrusts again and again and she comes with a desperate scream. Her orgasm releases him and he comes hard, her spasms milking him dry._  
  
“Oh, god, Harry!” Hermione cried out, her fingers wet and warm as she rode out her climax. As she finally relaxed, she tried not to notice how completely lonely she felt.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Hermione was crying. She hated crying. Absolutely _loathed_ it. Yet, here she was, lying on her bed, crying over Harry Potter.   
  
She had ruined everything. Since Harry had begun avoiding her, she had tried again and again to talk to him at work. She had thought that being in such an obviously non-romantic setting would help her approach him, put both of them at their ease.  
  
And so she had finally cornered him in the records room. She had tried to play dumb, innocent, asking him if there was a problem. Hoping that they could find a way to get past the horrible roadblock that had appeared in their friendship. But he didn’t want to talk to her, or be around her. He didn’t even want to _look_ at her.   
  
When she had forced him to look at her, and she saw that guarded look in his eyes, she almost broke down then and there. But instead, she had touched him. All she wanted to do was make things better. To save their friendship. To be there for him.   
  
So she had reached up and brushed his hair aside and for a second allowed herself to feel his skin under her hands. _I just want you to be happy again, Harry. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you_. She was sure he could see it in her eyes.  
  
And then, he took her hand away. And she felt her heart die a little at his next words. _“You can’t help me... It would probably be best for me to be alone...”_  
  
Just thinking about it caused her tears to renew themselves. What had she done? She had toyed with the most important relationship in her life. The most important man in her life. _The_ man in her life.  
  
Her eyes widened in realization. Harry was _it_. The man in her life. The person whose happiness was most important to her. The person she needed more than any other. And the man that made her body catch on fire merely at the thought of him.  
  
“Good lord. I’m in love with Harry.” She said it aloud to force herself to hear it. To force herself to acknowledge it. Like a glutton for punishment, she continued, “I’m in love with Harry… And I’ve screwed it up before it even started.”  
  
But, surprisingly, the tears didn’t come at this new revelation. How could they? How could she cry when she realized that she was in love? Or perhaps she just had no tears left. Either way, she was through with crying.  
  
She got up from the bed and began to pace. And to think. And to pace some more. ‘Snap out of it!’ she yelled at herself. ‘Stop acting like a total ninny and fix this!’  
  
Yes. She had to fix this. Or, at the least she had to _try_. She hadn’t put this much time and energy and sacrifice into this relationship only to let it disintegrate just as she realized what he really meant to her.  
  
So she marched herself into her bathroom and washed her face. She and Harry needed to talk…  
  
  
(TBC)

 


	3. Harry & Hermione

  
Author's notes:

(Originally posted October 2, 2006)

 

Here's the last part! It's deliberately a bit different in tone than the first two sections, so here's hoping that some people still find it enjoyable! :)

 

* * *

**Harry & Hermione...**  
  
  
  
 _“We need to talk.”_  
  
The words seemed to hang in the air over the both of them, as Harry just sat in his chair, staring at Hermione standing before him. She had been crying, he could tell. And she still looked beautiful to him, even as the pain of realizing that he had caused those tears tore at him.  
  
After a moment, Hermione frowned and spoke again. “Harry? Are you listening to me? We need to talk.”  
  
At that, Harry finally snapped out of his daze and launched himself out of his chair and went to pour himself another drink. “I heard you,” he replied, inwardly wincing as to how terse he sounded. But he didn’t have long to brood, for he suddenly found himself being spun around by a now-irritated Hermione, who also grabbed the empty glass out of his hand.  
  
“Why are you being such an ass?” she asked, though it didn’t sound like much of a question to Harry’s ears. “What do you think you’re doing? Do you think you’re going to run me off by acting like a total prick?”  
  
He had a hard time concentrating on what she was saying, he was practically mesmerized by how fiery she looked as she was berating him. But the truth of her words must have shown on his face, because she gave one of her trademark huffs of annoyance, and even went so far as to wave her hands in an inarticulate gesture of general frustration, before collapsing on his sofa. “You’re like a little boy in a movie who tries to get a dog to run away by throwing a stick at him or something!” He just stared at her, bewildered by how quickly her moods seemed to be changing. She looked back at him, and her eyes softened, even as a shadow of sadness passed over her face. “Oh, Harry,” she practically whispered his name. “When are you going to stop doing that? Shutting people out of your life? I’ve seen you do it to so many people over the years. I guess…” she faltered as her eyes looked away from him. “I guess I just never thought you would do it to me,” she finally finished, and even though she tried to hide it, he could see the tears welling in her eyes.  
  
The resolve that Harry had built up to avoid her suddenly crumbled as he sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, trying awkwardly to soothe her with whispers while he rubbed circles along her back. “Don’t say that, Hermione. I would never shut you out… I _could_ never shut you out.”  
  
“Even if I deserved it?” she asked, her cheek pressed against his chest.  
  
Harry pulled away to look her in the eyes. “You would never deserve that. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. It wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry, you deserved better than that.”  
  
At the look in his eyes, Hermione almost burst into tears again. But she stopped herself. This had to be done. So, she took a deep breath and plunged right in. “I think that maybe it was my fault,” she announced, and then winced as she saw the look of growing horror in his eyes.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked, and she could see that he was steeling himself against what she might say.  
  
“Well, it’s just that, it’s possible that maybe I noticed something about how you may have been acting around me and that perhaps I did some things that may have encouraged a certain kind of reaction and that while I didn’t mean to cause any real problems I think that perhaps I might not have used the best judgment?”  
  
She held her breath as she watched Harry mentally unravel her confession. When she finally saw the understanding dawn on his face, she braced herself for the worst.  
  
“Oh my god you did it on purpose!” Harry exclaimed, the disbelief and shock evident from his tone, as well as the fact that his eyes were bugging slightly out of his face.   
  
“I’m so sorry, Harry! I didn’t mean to, I swear!” Hermione rushed to reassure him, grabbing onto his forearm. But her reassurances had the opposite effect of what she had intended, because he just shook her off, as anger and hurt and disappointment all battled each other in his heart.   
  
“You didn’t mean to?” he asked, quietly as he stared into her eyes. “You didn’t mean to? You mean, you were just trying to lead me on? You were playing with my feelings? You don’t care about me like that, but you did it anyway?”  
  
With each question, Hermione winced at his tone, but she didn’t cry or run away, as much as she may have wanted to. “No! No, Harry, I didn’t mean it like that!” she exclaimed, and the desperate quality to her voice forced him to listen to her as she grabbed his arms again. “I mean that I never meant to hurt you. It’s true, at first I didn’t think it out, I was just teasing you, or that’s what I told myself. But after that first week I stopped! I just wanted to be with you again. I wanted everything to go back to normal! But it was too late, and I wanted so badly to make it up to you but you’ve been avoiding me and it’s all my fault and I’m so sorry. Please tell me what I can do to make this up to you!”  
  
As hurt as Harry was, he couldn’t help but be moved by Hermione’s speech. And he had to admit to himself that wasn’t entirely her fault. She couldn’t have known that her little game would have hurt so much, because she had no idea of how he felt about her. And now she would never know. It was obvious now that she regretted the whole thing, that she just wanted to go back to the comfort of being “just like a sister” and nothing more.  
  
Hermione was miserable. She had always been able to read Harry like a book, he was so open with his emotions, and now she could see the anger in his face. She let her hands drop from his arms, defeated. “I am so sorry, Harry,” she repeated, her voice catching on the emotion that forced it’s way out of her heart and into her throat. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure that the consequences of this will hurt me more than it will hurt you.”  
  
Harry snorted at her statement and looked away from her. “I doubt that’s true. If we can forget about this, and go back to being the best friends we always were? Why would that hurt you?”  
  
Hermione looked down. She didn’t want to admit it, but she had to be honest. This had all started because she had played games with their friendship and she wasn’t about to repeat her mistake. It might make it harder to go back, but at least it would be out in the open and they could deal with it. “Because...” she whispered, and then swallowed before starting again. “Because,” she repeated, now looking into his face, “I don’t want us to be just friends. I was wrong about what I did, and I’m sorry that I played with your feelings, but it showed me something. That I’m…” she paused and took a deep breath. “Well. That I’m a little in love with you. So, I suppose that I’m glad I found that out, even if I wish it could have been in some other way. I know that you don’t feel the same way about me, but I figured you deserved some honesty from me. And if you can try to get past th—”  
  
Harry didn’t let her finish that sentence. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was kissing her. His lips were on her lips, and they were just as soft as he had imagined. After she gave a slight “oof!” of surprise, she relaxed a little, but she was still holding herself with a tension that was obvious in her kiss. He pulled away and saw her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth still slightly frozen in place. Harry exhaled and grimaced slightly. “Well,” he began, rubbing his hand through the hair on the back of his head, “that was a hell of a lot more romantic in my head.”   
  
“Huh?” Hermione blurted, still looking utterly confused.  
  
In spite of himself, in spite of the insanity of the whole situation, Harry couldn’t help but laugh. A baffled Hermione was a sight rarely seen, and he had to admit that it was slightly adorable. At his laugh, she seemed to snap out of her daze. “You just kissed me!” she exclaimed, which only made him laugh harder.  
  
“Yeah, I did. It would have been helpful if you had actually kissed me back, you know. Not as smart as everyone thinks, eh?” he couldn’t help but tease her. After all, she had basically admitted that all that hair tossing and bra touching and hip smoothing had been part of some insane game.  
  
“But… you _kissed_ me!” she repeated, the incredulity obvious in her voice and expression. “Why would you do that?”  
  
Harry stopped laughing and pulled her close, grasping her hand. “Because. You said you’re a little in love with me?” he asked, letting her nod her head as a blush rose on her cheeks. “Well, that might be a problem, because I’m a lot in love with you.”  
  
He let the words soak into her brain, and he had the real pleasure of seeing her expression when she finally understood what he was saying to her. Her eyes widened again, and then a brilliant smile spread over her face. And then she launched herself at him.  
  
Hermione was never more grateful for Harry’s ability to react quickly as she was at that moment. He handled her surprise kiss much, _much_ better than she had handled his. True, he was a little startled when he fell back against the sofa cushions, but he quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. They both were so excited, that the kiss was clumsy and a little messy, and when they knocked his glasses askew, they just started laughing. But it was probably the best kiss either of them had ever had up to that point in their lives. For he took off his glasses, she moved her head this way, and he slid his tongue into her mouth just so, and her lips moved against his like that, and they were soon sighing and moaning into each others’ mouths.  
  
Harry was sure that he had never been kissed so thoroughly in his life. Her mouth was amazing. Her breath was sweet and her tongue was warm and her lips were delicious and having her on top of him was the best feeling in the world. Well, that was until he slipped his hands under her top and began to caress the soft muscle and skin of her back, her sides, her shoulder-blades. “Hermione,” he moaned as she began to leave soft kisses on his neck. “You’re so warm and I really wish you would take your clothes off.”  
  
He couldn’t believe the words had popped out of his mouth, but she just laughed against his neck before pushing herself up and staring into his eyes. “How could a girl refuse that kind of sweet-talk?” she asked before getting up and walking away from him. He just lay there, confused, until she laughed again. “Well?” she asked. “You mentioned something about clothes? Maybe we could do something about that?” she tossed the question over her shoulder as she began to walk down the hallway. The hallway that led to his bedroom.  
  
Harry was no fool. He quickly got off the sofa and grabbed a squealing Hermione and practically dragged her into his room before actually tossing her onto the bed. “How cave-man of you,” Hermione laughed, after bouncing a couple of times and trying to settle herself. “Very hot.”  
  
Harry just stared at her, her eyes sparkling, her hair wild around her face, laying back on his bed. “You’re hot,” he blurted.   
  
Hermione knew that the blush had deepened on her cheeks, but she couldn’t help but be flattered. This was Harry. He wasn’t a master seducer. He wasn’t a poet. But he meant what he said. And that made him perfect. “Come on over here,” she said, surprised at how sultry her voice sounded to her own ears.   
  
He didn’t need to be told twice. He was quickly covering her body with his own, and kissing her with a month of pent-up desire and longing that soon had her writhing and squirming beneath him. He managed to get her top off fairly easily, but her bra was another story altogether. And why did she wear jeans? And why were they so hard to get off?  
  
“Harry, wait, I’ve got to take off my shoes first.”  
  
“Ugh, _why_ did you wear _shoes_?”  
  
“Honestly, Harry, oh my god, wait, there’s a belt buckle…”  
  
“Ow, Hermione, watch your knee a little.”  
  
“Sorry! No, the clasp’s in front, see?”  
  
When their clothes were finally off and they were lying down next to each other, they just looked into each other’s eyes and burst into laughter. “I never knew I would have such a sense of accomplishment from stripping,” Hermione announced, the laughter lighting up her eyes.  
  
Harry grinned back. “Yeah,” he agreed sheepishly. “When I imagined it? I was a hell of a lot smoother.”  
  
Hermione’s eyes darkened and her breath picked up. “You imagined it?” she asked, her voice a throaty whisper. “You and me? You imagined us together?”  
  
Harry smiled and gently stroked her cheek. “Only every time I closed my eyes. And a few times while they were open.”  
  
And with that, the mood changed from fumbling laughter to need. He pulled her under him and kissed her with longing and lust and love. She let her hands roam over his bare back, letting her fingers touch every part of him that she could reach. And when she wrapped a leg around his hip, bumping and rubbing their groins together, Harry hissed at the heat that spread through his body.  
  
At the sound, Hermione felt herself get even more aroused, the wetness pooling in her pussy as she ran her feet along the backs of his legs. She wanted more and soon began pushing at him so that he turned over to lie on his back, and she quickly moved on top of him, laying hot, wet kisses on his neck, shoulders and chest. She let her hands touch every hard plane and ridge of muscle on his arms and chest. “Even better than I thought,” she murmured as she kissed his stomach and then down his legs as her hands stroked his thighs, knees and all the way down to his feet.  
  
“Oh, god, Hermione, please,” Harry muttered, his head tossed back and his eyes shut.  
  
“Mmm? Was there something you wanted?” she asked, even as she lay kisses on his inner thigh, loving the way he tensed and gasped each time she did so.  
  
“Please, touch me, Hermione,” he moaned. “I want you to touch me.”  
  
Hermione smiled. In her fantasies, Harry had begged her to touch him, and she had felt powerful when she had done so. But this was reality, and she found that all she wanted was to give him pleasure. That even the thought of giving him pleasure excited her in a way that she had never been before.  
  
And so she touched him. She ran her thumb along the head of his cock, and grasped his shaft with enough firmness to make him moan and buck against her hand. She moved her hand up and down, stroking him firmly on the way up, and letting her palm fist and caress the head before sliding back down as her other hand ran over his chest.   
  
Harry felt like he was on fire. Or, more to the point, that Hermione’s hands were like a flame, burning him with a desire that even his vivid fantasies hadn’t really readied him for. His need to touch _her_ grew even as he seemed to get impossibly harder and harder. He suddenly pulled at her and rolled them over so that she was once again beneath him. He attacked her mouth with his and savored every sound that she made. He then returned her favor and kissed her body, practically worshipping it as he caressed and kissed and tasted every bit of her. And when he reached her pussy, he couldn’t help but spread her legs and put his face to her, breathing in her smell, her arousal so strong that she was glistening for him.  
  
As she breathed out his name when he ran his fingers along her wet folds, Harry knew that this was heaven. Not the fantasies of him dominating her, but this moment, with him making her squirm and pant and moan his name with desire and love, both combined and entwined like their own bodies, moving together for release.  
  
When he kissed her there, at her opening, she gasped and keened and tangled her fingers in his hair. He kissed her, and licked her and suckled at her, holding her hips as she moaned and writhed and repeated his name over and over. He let his tongue circle her clit, eliciting more moans from her, before he put the flat of his tongue over her, causing her to grab him and bring him up to her face so that she could fiercely kiss him, his lips still coated with her juices.   
  
She had to stop him, she knew she was close to coming and she wanted to have him in her more than anything else. Harry, drugged by her fever, let himself be pushed back and she quickly straddled him, grabbing his cock and positioning herself so that she was soon enveloping him.   
  
As soon as he was within her, she sat still and closed her eyes, just reveling in the feeling of being full of him, of Harry, of having him inside of her body. Harry moaned as he ran his hands over her thighs.   
  
“That’s just so… _right_ ,” he whispered.   
  
She opened her eyes to find him staring into them. “Yes,” she whispered back. “It’s right. _We’re_ right.”   
  
And no other words were spoken as they moved together. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his as she began to move on top of him. His hands on her hips, her hands running along his, and over his chest and soon she was leaning forward, her hands braced on his shoulders as she moved back and forth, back and forth and side to side and up and down. And she could feel it building inside of her: the pulsing, the heaviness, the blood all telling her that her pussy was alive and throbbing and that Harry was the key, the lever that would push her over an edge that she had never experienced so fully in her life.  
  
She moved on him harder and faster, the sounds of their breaths and moans and gasps and of their skin moving and slapping against each other more intoxicating than all the elaborate fantasies that either of them could ever have constructed, before having experienced the reality of each others’ bodies. She was on the edge and moved a hand to her clit. His hand soon followed and together their fingers moved over and over the engorged nub until she suddenly screamed once and her whole body tensed as she came.  
  
She had closed her eyes at the onslaught, but Harry kept watching her, hypnotized by her beauty as her climax hit her hard. Her body throbbed and clenched around him, and he grasped firmly onto her hips as he thrust up into her, hard, once, twice, a third time, the feel of her orgasming around him so intense that he quickly came himself, pouring himself into her body.  
  
When she finally collapsed on top of him, he pulled her to him knowing that he wasn’t about to let her go. True, they had quite a bit to talk about. She certainly had some explaining to do, as did he. But he had to be grateful to whatever turn of events led to this perfect moment.   
  
Of course, he couldn’t help but grin when he thought back to the dance that had started this whole thing. He wondered if she had managed to keep that dress...  
  
  
The End.


End file.
